diana

darcelle vane began her sixth year at hogwarts believing she already knew everyone worth knowing.

at least, that's what she thought. then there was theodore nott.

quiet, observant, and impossible to read, he had always existed somewhere at the edge of her life. close enough to recognise. far enough to ignore.

but as war crept closer, loyalties blurred, and the future became increasingly uncertain, ignoring each other was no longer an option.

some stories begin with love.

this one begins with finally noticing someone who had been there all along.

link to the first chapter !

Slughorn launched into the lesson before either of us had to continue the conversation. "Today," he announced dramatically, "we will begin with something rather special."

A large silver cauldron sat at the front of the classroom. Steam spiraled from its surface in elegant ribbons. The room immediately quieted, even the students who never paid attention were looking now.

Slughorn beamed. "Amortentia."

Several people straightened in their seats. A few girls giggled. Someone wolf-whistled. Slughorn looked delighted.

"As many of you know, Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence."

The class erupted instantly.

"Can it actually make someone fall in love?"

"No."

"Can it make someone marry you?"

"No."

"What if—"

"No."

Slughorn sighed. "It creates obsession, infatuation, fascination. Not love." He tapped the side of the cauldron. "And it smells differently to every person according to what attracts them."

The room leaned forward collectively. Beside me, Theodore looked almost interested. Almost. Which, for Theodore, was practically enthusiasm.

Slughorn invited students to approach. Naturally, half the class stampeded toward the cauldron.

I remained seated. "I'm not fighting Granger for a better sniffing position."

Pansy laughed from somewhere behind us.

One by one students approached. One by one they returned looking embarrassed.

Eventually Slughorn pointed directly at me. "Miss Vane."

Wonderful.

I stood. The room suddenly felt warmer than it had a minute ago. I reached the cauldron and leaned forward. Immediately, scents flooded my senses.

Rain. Cold rain hitting stone. The scent Hogwarts carried after storms. For a second I was eleven again, standing outside the castle during my first autumn.

Then cigarettes. Not fresh smoke. Something older. Lingering in wool coats and dark corridors.

Then black cherries. Rich. Sweet. Dangerously sweet.

And finally liquor. Expensive whiskey. Crystal glasses. Pure-blood parties. The scent of adults discussing terrible things politely.

I froze. That combination felt oddly familiar. Not familiar enough to place, just enough to bother me.

"Interesting?" Slughorn asked.

I stepped back immediately. "Not particularly."

Several people laughed. I returned to my seat.

Then, Slughorn's gaze landed on Theodore.

"Mr. Nott."

Several students immediately turned to look. Theodore sighed. Actually sighed. Which was fascinating. He stood and crossed the room. For a moment, I found myself watching. Entirely against my will.

Theodore leaned over the cauldron. His expression remained completely neutral. One second. Two. Three. Then something changed. Tiny. Barely visible. His eyes narrowed. Not in confusion but in recognition. Theodore stepped back immediately. Almost too quickly. Then, he returned to his seat. I pretended not to notice. He pretended not to notice me noticing. The lesson continued and nobody spoke about it. Theodore rubbed a hand across his face, it was the first genuinely human thing I'd ever seen him do. And somehow that made me smile. Unfortunately, he noticed.

"You seem pleased." he said.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

Theodore glanced at me. For the first time all lesson, there was the faintest trace of amusement in his expression. A tiny crack in the statue.

"You smiled."

"I did not." i said raising my voice.

"You did."

I stared at him. He stared back. Then, somehow, Theodore Nott won whatever silent argument had just occurred. I hated that. The worst part was that I couldn't even explain why.

Not yet.

I knew Theodore in the way people know furniture that's always been in the same room. We shared friends. Shared classes. Shared countless late nights in the Slytherin common room and awkward gatherings organised by pure-blood parents who collected children the way they collected political alliances. He had been present in enough memories to feel familiar. And yet, I couldn't remember a single real conversation we'd ever had. Not one.

Theodore existed mostly in the edges of things. Quiet observations. Brief nods across crowded rooms. The occasional sarcastic comment delivered to somebody else while I happened to be standing nearby. I knew what he looked like. I knew who his father was. I knew he was clever.

Beyond that, he was a collection of assumptions stitched together by proximity.